


Limping Along

by SirLancelotTheBrave



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Inseparables Fest 2k14, M/M, Post-Savoy, Whump, eventual OT3, post-Milady "death"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/pseuds/SirLancelotTheBrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still reeling from the deaths of his brother and wife, Athos has joined the Musketeer regiment hoping for nothing more than an honorable death. But when a routine mission goes terribly wrong, he is surprised to find Aramis and Porthos aren't so willing to let him slip away, even at great cost to themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limping Along

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this snuck up on me rather quickly! I've had this idea for ages, but it took the Inseparables Fest to get me to out it down on paper. I'm not sure how long the story will be yet, since I haven't fully finished it, but I'd guess at least five chapters or so. I'll try to stick to a regular update schedule of every few days, but this is a busy time of year for me, so cut me some slack, please. Otherwise, enjoy!

Athos woke up and immediately wished he hadn't. His head was splitting down the middle as if someone had repeatedly slammed a hammer into his skull. Apparently he'd failed to drink enough to make sure he wouldn't wake up again.

Biting back a groan, he sat up. Once he was satisfied that his head was not going to fall off and go rolling along the floor, he rose to his feet, kicking empty bottles away. Just the idea of putting on his gear seemed too much to consider, but if Athos still believed in one thing, it was doing his duty.

A few minutes later, he was making his way to the garrison. The still unfamiliar weight of his shoulder guard pressed down on his arm, and he wondered, not for the first time, if he deserved to be wearing it.

No one in the courtyard looked up when he entered. He kept his hat pulled low, avoiding eye contact. For the most part, the other Musketeers had given up trying to be friendly, but he didn't want to encourage any more unwanted overtures of friendship.

He stalked through the courtyard and directly up to Treville's office. The captain was standing at his desk, looking through a stack of papers and muttering bitterly to himself about paperwork. Athos smirked: the captain was the only man here whom he honestly liked and respected.

"Good morning, sir," he said, entering the room.

Treville glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. Athos knew what he was seeing: eyes red rimmed from too much drink, face pale and gaunt from too many nights forgetting to eat. Treville's lips tightened into a line, but he did not comment on Athos's steadily worsening alcoholism.

"Morning," the captain grunted. "They told you I wanted to see you, then?"

Athos frowned. "Who, sir?"

Treville shot him an odd look. "Oh. Apparently not, then. Damn. Should've known they'd leave it to me to tell you."

"Tell me what, sir?" he asked, a sinking feeling churning his already upset stomach.

"I've got a mission for you. Suspected Spanish activity down near Bordeaux. We think some spies may have slipped down the mouth of the Garonne. We believe they may have a base within the city. I'm sending you down to check it out."

"Of course, sir," Athos said crisply, turning to leave.

"Just a moment," Treville said wearily. "I haven't finished." Athos turned back, the sinking feeling intensifying. "I'm sending Aramis and Porthos with you."

"Sir-!" Athos began, losing control for a brief second. Treville raised an eyebrow and he quickly wrestled his emotions back under control. "With all due respect, sir, I'm sure I could handle this on my own."

Treville shook his head. "You have to work with the others at some point. Aramis and Porthos are excellent soldiers. You'll need them on this. This will be Porthos's first assignment since his commission. He's more than proved himself. And Aramis has been on leave for long enough. He needs to get back in the field."

"May I ask who is to be in charge?" Athos asked stiffly.

Treville gave him a sharp look. "Work that out amongst yourselves. I informed them of the mission already, so you'll probably find them in the stables."

Athos recognized the dismissal and inclined his head in farewell, maintaining a calm façade while inwardly seething. He knew he deserved the assignment, but what had he done to make Treville stick him with the two most irritating Musketeers in the regiment?

It wasn't that the captain was wrong about them. They both seemed to be perfectly capable soldiers. He'd heard whispers about them, though, even as cut off from the regiment as he kept himself, and he had his own private reasons to keep way from them.

Porthos was supposedly something of a brute, if the rumors were to be believed. He was tall and broad and could probably rip a man's spine out his back, judging by the size of his muscles. Athos had heard the phrases 'gutter rat' and 'mongrel' floating around the garrison, though never where the large man could hear them. He was personally inclined to disbelieve these as the bitter complaints of men who realized a commoner was far more skilled than they. Still, for all he knew, they could be true.

Aramis was the more irksome of the pair. He had built a reputation as something of a fop and a cad, and Athos found those traits very difficult to respect, even in a man with a history for good soldiering. He'd seen Aramis around the courtyard, always grinning and regaling large groups with tales of his exploits. He was the kind of man who knew perfectly well how handsome he was, and used it to his advantage.

He'd heard rumors that Aramis had survived an ambush just before Athos himself had joined (some even said massacre) that had claimed the lives of nearly twenty other Musketeers, but Athos had never inquired about it. The man certainly didn't seem very affected by his experiences, if it were true. If it wasn't for the fact that he seemed to be the only Musketeer who didn't turn his nose up at Porthos's dubious origins, Athos would think he had no redeeming qualities.

They'd tried their best to befriend Athos as well when he'd first arrived. Aramis and Porthos had invited him to dine with them several times. If he were being honest with himself, he had been tempted, especially when some small, often latent part of his mind unhelpfully informed him that they were quite attractive, actually, and perhaps he should say yes. This in turn just triggered more self-hatred, coming so soon after all that had happened, and made him more adamant in his isolation. Athos's refusals had grown less polite and more pointed after that until eventually they both left him alone.

Which was what he'd wanted, really. He didn't have time to be waste making friends. All he wanted from his commission was a chance to die with honor, hopefully soon. It had seemed the better option when staring down the barrel of his own pistol.

As Treville had suspected, he found Aramis and Porthos in the stables, saddling their horses. He forewent a greeting and moved to saddle his own stallion, only to find it was already done.

"Oh, sorry," Aramis said, glancing over from where he and Porthos were packing their saddle bags. "I went ahead and took care of it. We weren't sure when you'd get in."

"Thanks," Athos grunted, feeling wrong-footed by the thoughtful gesture. He disliked feeling grateful to anyone, for anything. Aramis flashed him a smile, and Athos fought the thoughts that suggested it was charming.

"Captain filled you in?" Porthos asked, fastening the last of his bags shut.

"Yes, he – oh, you don't need to do that," Athos said quickly when Porthos moved to the far side of his stallion and began to help with his bags, flinging them up with ease.

"S'alright. You reckon we'll find Spanish spies?" he asked, stuffing provisions into one of the saddlebags. There was a scar over his left eye, Athos noticed. It looked recent. On most men, it would be a defect, but it gave Porthos something of a rakish air.

"More likely just some poor Spanish merchant who sailed down the wrong river and gave the locals a fright," Aramis said dismissively. Athos noticed he was far more serious now than he usually seemed to be, as if the mission was giving him focus. It made his eyes looks darker.

"We'll need to check it out regardless," Athos said assertively, hoping to take command early on and trying to quell his unwelcome thoughts.

Aramis and Porthos gave him twin looks of what appeared to be amusement. "No, really?" Porthos asked, grinning. "And 'ere I thought this was a vacation."

"Bordeaux is beautiful this time of year," Aramis agreed, winking roguishly.

Athos flushed slightly as he realized he was being teased. How dare they? His fingers clenched as he threw the last of his supplies into a saddlebag and swung his cloak onto his shoulders.

"We should head out," he said curtly, leading his stallion from the stables. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Aramis and Porthos exchange a look.

It looked like disappointment.

* * *

Athos had never been more pleased to arrive in a town.

The last week and half had been among the most aggravating of Athos's life. He'd thought ignoring Aramis and Porthos whenever they tried to converse with him would be enough to shut them up.

He was wrong.

Instead, they seemed to take his silence as an excuse to talk even louder, swapping stories of heroic valor and misadventures. They never stopped asking Athos to contribute, and once or twice he found himself telling a story without even realizing it, just to shut them up.

The nights had been the worst. He'd done his best to find inns every time they stopped, but several nights they'd been obliged to set up camp along the road. Athos had been shot down every time he suggested a campsite and eventually just left it to Porthos to choose.

Strangely enough, Aramis didn't seem to be interested in picking, but Athos noticed that Porthos never stopped near woods. He always took them out of their way to find a barn or at least an open field, and he would spend the rest of the night keeping an eye on Aramis. Actually, he seemed to hover around Aramis as a general rule.

It was almost intriguing enough to make Athos break his silence and ask why he did it. Almost.

"Shall I get directions to the nearest inn?" Aramis asked, breaking the silence. Athos saw him eyeing a gaggle of young women with interest and was surprised at the hot flash of some unnamable emotion that rushed through him.

"No, we should begin at once," Athos said shortly. He'd let the issue of command slip while they were on the road, but he was determined to be in charge now. He'd been raised for this.

"Eh? Don't you think it'd be better to 'ave a good night's sleep first?" Porthos asked doubtfully.

"The sooner we find answers, the sooner we can go home," Athos snapped, not caring about how rude he surely sounded. "We'll split up and make inquiries. Meet back here in an hour."

He spun his stallion away without waiting for a response, heading straight for the first bar he could find. Tongues would be looser where liquor flowed.

And if he had a few drinks himself, well, he was only completing his disguise.

A bottle and a half in, Athos still hadn't learned anything about the suspected Spanish presence within Bordeaux, and he was beginning to feel uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was now nearly drunk while on duty. He didn't like Aramis or Porthos, but he found he didn't want them to think badly of him.

"I think I saw some Spaniards out by the ol' quarry," one patron slurred at him eventually. It was the excuse he needed to force himself out of the dingy bar before he could drink enough that it would show.

Logically, he knew he should return to the meeting place and alert Aramis and Porthos to his information. They should strategize and make a plan. But the pleasant buzzing in his head was drowning out both memories and inhibitions, and he decided to head out to the quarry alone. No point in bringing back a lead if it turned out to be a dead end.

The wine made the passage of time blur together, so that it felt as if he were at the quarry in moments. Night was falling, making it impossible to see into the depths of the unfinished stone chasm, but Athos thought he could make out signs of movement down below. He leaned forward, swaying slightly over the edge.

He nearly pitched right over when a voice behind him hissed, "Athos!" He spun around, searching the gloom, and made out two figures approaching rapidly on foot.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'?" Porthos's voice was a menacing rumble in the darkness.

"Following a lead," Athos mumbled, hoping his voice did not slur and betray him.

"Why didn't you meet us first?" Aramis demanded. Up close, his face was a mask of fury, but Athos thought he could see traces of worry beneath the anger. "We do not act alone!"

"I can handle myself!" Athos snarled, far more loudly than he'd meant to. From somewhere deep below them, a shout echoed up.

Porthos swore loudly, leaping forward to the edge. "Think we got company," he said grimly.

The clouds in front of the moon shifted, sending light glinting off drawn swords. Men were rushing up the cliff toward them.

"They look friendly," Aramis commented, smirking a bit as he drew his sword.

Athos was about to snap something distinctly unflattering at him about blitheness in the face of danger when a branch snapped behind them. Porthos swore again and turned suddenly to catch a sword on his own as several more men burst from the underbrush behind them.

Aramis immediately leapt out beside him, keeping him from being overwhelmed by the new attackers, so Athos turned to the men still coming at them from the bottom of the quarry. His fingertips tingled as he drew his sword, and he clenched his hand until it hurt, trying to clear the fog from his mind.

He started down the cliff path, hoping to meet the enemy while he still had the high ground. He had to trust Aramis and Porthos to take care of the attackers up above.

Athos met the first man with a parry and thrust, driving his blade deep through his stomach before the man could retaliate. His reflexes were too slow, dulled around the edges, but he fought through it, dispatching a second in a similar fashion.

He was just stepping forward to meet the third when the ledge beneath his foot crumbled. For a terrifying second, he hung over empty space, trying desperately to regain his balance. Then he tipped forward and plummeted into the quarry.

Athos's foot hit rock. Pain exploded up his leg as his knee buckled. The last thing he heard before slipping into darkness were Aramis and Porthos desperately calling his name.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you see so far? Leave me a comment or check me out on tumblr at sirlancelotthebrave!


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